Catherine felt that nothing could have been safer; but ashamed of an ignorance little expected, she dared no longer contest the point, nor refuse to have been as full of arch penetration and affectionate sympathy as Isabella chose to consider her.  Her brother, she found, was preparing to set off with all speed to Fullerton, to make known his situation and ask consent; and here was a source of some real agitation to the mind of Isabella.  Catherine endeavoured to persuade her, as she was herself persuaded, that her father and mother would never oppose their son’s wishes.  “It is impossible,” said she, “for parents to be more kind, or more desirous of their children’s happiness; I have no doubt of their consenting immediately.”

“Morland says exactly the same,” replied Isabella; “and yet I dare not expect it; my fortune will be so small; they never can consent to it.  Your brother, who might marry anybody!”

Here Catherine again discerned the force of love.

“Indeed, Isabella, you are too humble.  The difference of fortune can be nothing to signify.”

“Oh!  My sweet Catherine, in your generous heart I know it would signify nothing; but we must not expect such disinterestedness in many.  As for myself, I am sure I only wish our situations were reversed.  Had I the command of millions, were I mistress of the whole world, your brother would be my only choice.”

This charming sentiment, recommended as much by sense as novelty, gave Catherine a most pleasing remembrance of all the heroines of her acquaintance; and she thought her friend never looked more lovely than in uttering the grand idea.  “I am sure they will consent,” was her frequent declaration; “I am sure they will be delighted with you.”

“For my own part,” said Isabella, “my wishes are so moderate that the smallest income in nature would be enough for me.  Where people are really attached, poverty itself is wealth; grandeur I detest:  I would not settle in London for the universe.  A cottage in some retired village would be ecstasy.  There are some charming little villas about Richmond.”

“Richmond!” cried Catherine.  “You must settle near Fullerton.  You must be near us.”

“I am sure I shall be miserable if we do not.  If I can but be near you, I shall be satisfied.  But this is idle talking!  I will not allow myself to think of such things, till we have your father’s answer.  Morland says that by sending it tonight to Salisbury, we may have it tomorrow.  Tomorrow?  I know I shall never have courage to open the letter.  I know it will be the death of me.”

A reverie succeeded this conviction —­ and when Isabella spoke again, it was to resolve on the quality of her wedding-gown.